


and the universe said

by impey



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Allspark, Amnesia, Fix-It, Gen, Spark flowers, Stream of Consciousness, but i mess with them a bit, probably megop in future chapters, tags will be added as i update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:35:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28651365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impey/pseuds/impey
Summary: You wake up.  Nothing is felt, at first, as your mind struggles to shake out of its haze, the haze it has been in for so long. So very, very long. Sleep and something else drags you down and holds you to the ground. The metal beneath you is so very cold, and the echo of a thought says to push yourself up. But something changes and suddenly you are warm again, as if embraced by the ground itself. The world does not want to see you go, but it must, and it— like any creator— will hold you just a little longer.Just a little bit longer.
Relationships: Megatron & Optimus Prime, Optimus Prime & Primus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	and the universe said

_ I see you, child. It is past time. Wake up. _

  
  
  
  


You wake up. Nothing is felt, at first, as your mind struggles to shake out of its haze, the haze it has been in for so long. So very, very long. Sleep and something else drags you down and holds you to the ground. The metal beneath you is so very cold, and the echo of a thought says to push yourself up. But something changes and suddenly you are warm again, as if embraced by the ground itself. The world does not want to see you go, but it must, and it— like any creator— will hold you just a little longer.

Just a little bit longer. 

You phase in and out of consciousness, if you may call it that, until the fog within your mind dissipates. Thinking clearly now, you know it is time to get up. You feel an urgency for something you do not remember. Your sight crackles online, going on and off a few times before things settle. Your joints and seams and all the little wires in between register a few moments after, and you begin the process of pulling yourself up off of the ground. You are no longer warm, and the cave around you glows brighter than it should. 

Walls lined with blue crystals, bluer than anything that your memory banks can pull up. Which you then realize is nothing. 

The same blue glow runs in liquid form from some high part of the cave’s ceiling, flowing down into a trickling stream. It exits the cave through a small hole in the wall. Far too small for you to fit into. 

Not yet, anyways. 

Something in you tells you your energy is low, and you  _ really _ need something to sustain yourself. And then it shows you, too, a blinking red signal out of the corner of your vision and just beyond it, seeping into your mind, saying  _ ENERGON LEVELS LOW.  _ Something clicks as you look back down to the stream, to the crystals. Energon. That’s what that is. You know what that is, and right now, you’re in dire need of it. So you drink.

You’re fuller than you’ve felt in a while. Something tells you that you’d been running on empty for a long, long time, longer than since you fell into your slumber. Whenever that was. The questions start to set in, now that you can operate at a higher level. What happened? Where are you?  _ Who _ are you?

That last one hurts your head, so you decide to shove it away. At least, for now. The more important matter at this moment is answering the first two questions. The  _ where _ is easy, on the surface level of it. You’re in a cave. There’s a lot of energon. You don’t quite remember why, but lots of energon is good, and something that your systems said you hadn’t had in a while. There  _ might _ be a way out of here, but it’s through the ceiling or through the hole, and you’re not sure you can fit through either. But it is worth investigating. 

Craning your neck upwards, you can faintly see the opening that the energon is coming from— it’s certainly wider than the one down here, but it’s also farther up, and there’s no steady purchases that you can see. If you were stronger, less weak, you could do it. You know you’ve done things far more dangerous before. You don’t know  _ how _ you know, because your memory banks are fried beyond any sort of repair you could try yourself, but you know.

So you can’t do that yet. The other option, then, the hole— it is small, far too small for you, but with some force… hm. The cave isn’t large by any means, so crouching down in front of the opening is only a few steps away from the cascade of energon. It’s thin, a chunk or two of metal thick. If you could just find something down here and have a little time to chip away at the edges, there’s a chance you’d slip through. But that’s nothing to say of what’s past it. 

It was bright, bright blue, brighter even than your own cave’s glow. Larger than that one, too, with even more crystals poking out from the walls and coming down from the ceiling. The energon was more plentiful, trickling down from other caves doubtlessly similar to yours and joining together at the base to form a ring of glowing blue liquid around an elevated patch of…

Flowers. They were the source of that cave’s light. You wonder what  _ flowers _ must be doing all the way down here, among all this cold metal?

The drop from here to there, from what you could see, wasn’t so far. And perhaps the flowers piqued your curiosity (Something old within you, always curious, always learning, peeks back up again. It feels too long. Feels like eons.)

You make your decision. Up or down. While up surely leads  _ somewhere _ (and the echoing urgency, the feeling from another room concurs)… Your first kick lands against the edge of the opening with a thud. You try again, harder this time, because the knowledge of  _ how  _ to kick and  _ how  _ to fight is within you, and if there’s any time to use it it would be now.

Your memories are fried. You don’t know where you are. You need to get out, but you’re going the wrong way, because while out is  _ up _ , answers are  _ down  _ and you have never been one to be left with questions. This, you know. 

The third kick does it. A crack forms, and from there it’s easy. The other side takes just as many before it crumbles, too, leaving a wider opening than before. Wide enough for you to pass through? Well, maybe. If you lie on your back. There weren’t any better options, so you stick your legs through first. Easy enough. From there, you use the outer sides of the wall to push out from your cave, landing on the ground with a splash— energon stream— and a grunt. 

Your landing was a little harder than expected, it seems, as you stumble back and your knees lock. Too weak, you realize, venting out. You had only just woken up from… who even knows how long of a sleep. The energon was still making its way through your system. It’s understandable, and yet it frustrates you still, that you falter like this. 

And there’s the urgency again. It’s like a memory. The memory of the feeling of…. something. There’s too many somethings, and not enough answers to fill in the blanks. Which is why you’re in here. 

Now that you’re not looking at it through a hole, the cave has a bit more to it. There’s passageways, large enough for you to fit through them, leading to and from it. Like it’s an epicenter for a greater series of caves. You wonder what they're for— and again, how you even got here. 

You steady yourself, making sure nothing else starts acting odd before pushing off the wall and toward the flowers. The sprout from the seams of the little island, illuminating the area and walls in soft blue light. It’s a wonder how such beautiful things could grow so far down here. You stop in the middle of them, careful not to step on any. (Another feeling from another room, the awkwardness of trying to shrink yourself to preserve the smaller things around you. How specific.) 

There’s four openings in this cave. One is directly under your cave’s opening, and the other three lead in unknown directions. You should explore. You need to, if you want to eventually get out with your answers— and memory— intact. Which is why… 

You slowly lower yourself down onto the bed of flowers. It starts to feel warm. It wouldn’t be safe to travel further if you were winded by a mere jump, so the only other option is to go back into recharge and let your systems repair. You only hope whatever slumber you slip into will let you go. 

  
  


——————

  
  


You dream of a room of inverted sky. Space is white, and cream, and light light blue, and the stars are black speckles burning bright against it. It’s like you’re standing in a painting. 

There’s a haze in your mind, making it feel stuffy and half there. It’s the same, the very same fog that didn’t want to let you go. It came from here. But, where was here? And why do you know, without a doubt, you’d previously been here for a  _ very  _ long time? 

A ways off from you sits a mech, cross legged and contentedly reading from a book in their hands. If they notice you, they don’t make any indication of it. You aren’t sure whether to approach or continue to stand. 

Luckily, they answer the question for you. 

“Orion Pax.” 

_ That _ jolts something out of you. A snap as your processor connects two and two. Your name is Orion Pax. How had that been forgotten? 

“Don’t look so startled,” the mech laughs at you, despite not looking up from their book. Their voice isn’t really… coming from them, you think. It comes from all around you, from the stars and the book and the fog in your brain. 

“Uh..,” You try to reply, but nothing comes out besides that. You feel like you’re embarrassing yourself in front of someone important. Someone  _ very  _ important. 

Their book snaps shut, then, and they finally turn and face you. There’s a gentle smile on their face, but it… keeps shifting. Their face is there, then it’s not, then it’s something else, then it’s someone, then it’s no one at all, and then it’s No One who is someone—

And then the shifts stop, and they’re gone. Or they were, until you hear behind you and all around, “Oh, you’re not in trouble. Really, I should be thanking you.” You turn around and they're slotting the book into the bookcase among a row of others. 

“That's… a relief. Though I must ask, what are you thanking me for?” You manage to say, drawn out of the strange, awe-inducing qualities of the mech before you. You know them, you think, surely you do. 

“There are many things I could thank you for, Orion,” The being begins, bookshelf disappearing in a second and two chairs and a table materializing in the next, “There are the generals and the specifics. I could thank you for existing. I could thank you for being my creation. I could thank you for caring about my other creations, even after your experiences, your ugly war.”

You’re a little stunned, because you don’t know half of what they’re talking about (but you do, you do you do you do—)

“Take a seat, child. The very _least_ you could do before frying your own processor off is accept my gratitude,” They say, and it’s once again accompanied by that gentle smile, the one that means _I wish you well,_ _to the ends of the universe._

So you take your seat. Somehow, it’s unsurprising they can read your mind. 

“If I may ask a question…?” You start.

“Your memories are fried for reasons out of my control. I can help in subtle ways, but there are still forces looking to thwart me down there. I can only offer the barest of knowledge.”

“Ah,” Is all you can say. You open your mouth again—

“You’re not anywhere at all, really,” They answer before you can even  _ get it out _ , “But you slept here for a long while, which I must also thank you for. You returned  _ me _ to… well, me.” 

“And you are…?” 

“Primus. I don’t blame you for forgetting,” Their smile turns weary, a little sad, “It’s out of my control. And besides, you’ve all been preoccupied for the past few million years. More of you have passed than I can count.”

The war, the weight of that memory drags you down, down, down, too heavy to process here and now because your head is still shoved full of cotton. Primus, now, is someone you know. That one is easy to remember. You reach up to touch the middle of your torso, trying to find a seam that opens up to—

“I’m sorry. The Matrix is gone,” The god shakes their head, knowing what you had to do while you still do not, before the hope returns to their voice, “But… Cybertron is not.”

Cybertron. Home. Orion Pax’s home. And… your friends, too. Your family. Whoever they may be.

“They’re going to need you again. Not now, but someday. They always will, because they love you,” and they say it with such melancholy that you can’t help but wonder how lonely it must be, locked away in a well from all you’ve created, the whole world, your  _ actual self _ . But they go on, “I can help you as best as I can from here. But there are…complications, where you are. When Cybertron was born anew, you see, some things had to be purged.”

“Purged of what, exactly?” You seem to be asking a lot of questions lately. Thankfully, you can receive answers here.

The god contemplates. “Darkness is too simple of a word. It’s… decay. Beings made from it, and they’re from me. The years wear us all down, Orion, and I’ve had eons to rot.” 

You aren’t exactly pleased to hear that, but… you understand. You understand a little too well, somewhere in the depths of your metal, the exhaustion one feels after years of trial.

“I’ll do what I must to rejoin them. And you have my gratitude,” You say, and you don’t know who ‘them’ is, not consciously, but you will. 

“No gratitude is needed, my child,” They laugh, and their face shifts again, in the someone-no one-No One pattern, and you feel like you’re melting away and slipping through the cracks of your chair, “That’s my job. Come visit me again, next time you dream. The door is never closed.” 

And then it’s black. 

**Author's Note:**

> hah old man. comments and suggestion are always appreciated /thumbsup


End file.
